Don’t Chase Shiny Objects

There’s a particular kind of restlessness that lives in people who build things.

It shows up as curiosity. As a pull toward the next interesting problem. As the quiet thrill of figuring something out for the first time. And for most of my life, I’ve considered it one of my better qualities.

But I’ve also learned that this same quality, left unchecked, can keep you busy without actually building anything.

A few years ago, I was running Wild Tiger Tees and looking for a new craft we could bring into the work program. Something that would complement what we were already doing. Something that might become the next product line.

One week, I was cutting wine bottles into drinking glasses. I watched tutorials, gathered supplies, figured out the technique. It was satisfying in that way new skills always are. Then a couple weeks later, I had moved on to sewing little bags from scrap cloth. Different tools, different process, same energy. And then came the paper. I was making sheets from pulp, using a laser cutter to engrave designs into cardboard covers, imagining how it might all come together into something beautiful.

Each time, I’d figure out the craft. And each time, I’d lose interest before it went anywhere.

None of it was helping me find the next product for our work program. I was learning, yes. I was staying engaged. But I wasn’t building. I was just exploring, one shiny object after another, mistaking motion for progress.

That tendency is still there. It’s probably always going to be there. I love the joy of discovery, of putting my hands on something new and understanding how it works. But I’ve come to see that the same energy that makes me good at starting things can make me bad at staying with them.

And staying with things is how you build something that lasts.

This is why a conversation I had recently with Kristen from Rela Art stuck with me. She runs a company that creates custom artwork solutions through a subscription model, with the explicit goal of getting money back into the hands of artists. We were talking about building businesses with purpose, about all the ideas and opportunities that seem to show up when you’re doing meaningful work.

And she said something simple: “Don’t chase shiny objects.”

I’ve heard versions of this advice before. But hearing it from Kristen hit differently, maybe because I’ve known her for a long time now. I’ve watched her develop the same discipline she was naming. I’ve seen her sit with the hard questions about revenue and sustainability, resisting the pull toward easier distractions, staying focused on what actually supports her mission.

It reminded me that focus isn’t a personality trait. It’s a practice. And it’s one that people like us, people drawn to impact and meaning, often have to work harder at.

Because when you care about making a difference, everything feels like an opportunity. Another program to join. Another collaboration to explore. Another idea that could matter. The temptation isn’t toward meaningless distractions. It’s toward meaningful ones. And that makes it harder to say no.

But if the activities we’re pouring ourselves into aren’t tied to revenue, or helping our customers achieve their dream outcome, we’re not building anything sustainable. We’re just staying busy. And that busyness, however well-intentioned, is pulling energy away from the thing that could actually grow.

I think about this often when I work with early-stage founders. So many of them are juggling five different directions at once, not because they lack discipline, but because they genuinely care about all of it. The challenge isn’t motivation. It’s selection. It’s learning to hold your curiosity loosely enough that it doesn’t run the show.

Focus isn’t about saying no to bad things. It’s about saying no to good things that aren’t the best use of your time right now.

That’s a harder skill than it sounds. It asks you to trust that the other opportunities will still be there later. It asks you to tolerate the discomfort of not exploring every interesting path. It asks you to believe that depth, over time, creates more impact than breadth.

I’m still learning this. Probably always will be.

But it felt like a good reminder to carry into the year. The next shiny object will always appear. The question is whether you’ll let it pull you off course, or whether you’ll smile at it, appreciate it for what it is, and return to the work that’s waiting.